Drabbles & Ficlets
by ravenslight
Summary: A collection of short works. Glimpses into the multi-faced lives of witches and wizards of Harry Potter, this collection of works is prompted or used to work through writer's block. Multiple pairings and ratings. Message me to request prompts or pairings!
1. Domestic Draco: Daddy Distress - DHr

**Author's Note:** Written for Strictly Dramione's Prank Fest 2018. I hope you enjoy! I was a weird child and found very strange things funny; the plot of this story is based loosely on a story my mother loves to tell our family friends about something I did when I was a kid. Enjoy!

* * *

 **Domestic Draco: Daddy Distress - Rated K**

Used tissues littered the floor around the bassinet in a baby's room. A house elf clad in a bright pink tutu and polka-dotted jumper leaned over a crib, hushing a wailing blond baby between periodic trumpets of her long, pointed nose. A man, undoubtedly the baby's father judging by the platinum locks the two shared, paced the room, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Mimsy, please do something! I've tried everything to get him to stop crying, but nothing is working," the blond pleaded.

"Mimsy tries, Mister Draco." A loud trumpet interrupted her sentence. "Mister Scorpy bad mad." Her big blue eyes are watery, though with tears of frustration or irritation from her constant nose blowing, Draco couldn't tell. Either way, both Draco and the little house elf were near their wit's end with the wailing child in front of them.

Hermione had promised that she'd only be gone for the evening—an important ministry dinner, she'd said. She couldn't miss it, and it had been sprung on her last minute. Their usual sitter wasn't available, and Victoire had a date with her new mystery beau. Two hours before Hermione was due to leave by Floo, they'd agreed that Draco would stay home with the baby.

Or, as Hermione would be likely to remind him, she'd won when she'd walked out of their shared bedroom in a Slytherin-green bustier and lace panties and promised Draco anything he wanted if he just stayed home with Scorpius.

Draco wasn't always easy to please, but he'd be damned if he turned down his curly-haired witch when she was decked out in his house colors.

He'd nodded mutely, and Hermione had grinned her victory, tweaking his nose and pecking his cheek as she sashayed back into their bedroom to put on her dinner-appropriate robes over the lingerie that had effectively won the argument. The final nail in the coffin had been when she'd walked by and lifted the hem so he could see the silver garter that held up her deep green stockings.

The woman was much more Slytherin than she would ever admit to, and it brought him to his knees.

So that was how he'd ended up in the middle of a war-scene, though the wailing of his son replaced the shouted spells and the flashing lights of his mobile replaced the green and red splashes of wand fire.

Draco looked at the small clock in the corner of the room. Courtesy of Molly Weasley, it was just like the one that Draco now knew stood in the Weasley living room. However, this one held a twist of his own creation, mostly to allow him to avoid the wrath of his wife. This clock told the viewer both where each member of the family was and what they were feeling. Hermione's little arrow—because Draco _refused_ to have spoons. They were _ghastly_ —was wavering between content and anxious.

He knew that she didn't like leaving Scorpius with Draco and a sick house elf, but he knew that her job was important. More than important, since she made the majority of the money in the family.

Draco barely had a chance to glance at Scorpius' arrow—bright, angry red—when another piercing wail rent the air. He crossed the room to the crib and nudged the sagging house elf aside.

"Go, Mimsy. I'll figure something out."

The house elf looked up at him, tears spilling over her eyes. "R-really, Misters Draco? But Mimsy has times. Mimsy cans— _achoo!_ " The small elf's eyes turned as big as saucers and focused on the front of his very new, very _expensive_ shirt. Following her eyes, Draco focused on the massive green bogey resting snugly below his third button, mercifully just below the open vee.

Scorpius' wailing had stopped following the wee elf's sneeze. In its place, small hiccupping giggles issued from the small child's mouth. _Thank Merlin for small miracles, at least,_ Draco thought wryly.

Horrified, the little elf met his eyes once more, lips quivering. "Mimsy is so sorry, Mister Draco."

Closing his eyes, he sighed through his nose. "I've got him, Mimsy. You—just go. Get some rest."

Nodding, the little elf trumpeted into her tissue once more and disapparated out of the room with a loud _crack._

Once the small elf had left the room, Draco turned back to the giggling boy in front of him. Despite himself, he cracked his first smile since his witch had left for her bloody work dinner.

"Oh, you find that funny, do you?" Draco arched his perfect brow at the little boy in front of him who was currently shoving fistfuls of his blanket into his mouth with one hand and gripping a stuffed dragon in the other.

The giggles intensified, and the little boy mumbled something around his fist.

Amused, Draco leaned into the crib a little further and began tickling his mini-me. "I didn't hear that. I'm afraid you'll have to tell me again," he chuckled into the air around him.

Scorpius leaned back to get away from his father's tickling, the blanket falling free of his mouth as the delighted laughter fell from his rosy cheeks. With one large inhale, the boy shouted, "Daddy, BOGEY!" and dissolved into hysterical laughter again.

Draco, enjoying his nanny duties much more with a giggling child, stopped his tickling to allow the boy a chance to breathe. Attempting to arrange his face into a serious expression, he looked Scorpius in the eye. "It's not nice to laugh when gross things happen to your Daddy." His scolding fell on deaf ears, as his shirt stuck to the top of the crib when he went to move back.

With a loud squelching noise, his shirt parted from the crib, leaving half of the giant booger behind. Of course, this set Scorpius off on a fresh set of giggles as Draco searched his pockets for his wand. Finally locating it tucked into the depths of his right pocket, he extracted the hawthorn wand from his pocket and cast a silent Scourgify on both his shirt and the bars of his son's cribs.

As the boy's giggles subsided, Draco reached in and lifted the small boy in his arms. Not one to be deterred, Scorpius poked around at Draco's shirt, a small grin playing on the boy's face. "Bogey?" he questioned, pouting up at Draco.

Draco grimaced. "Nope, no more bogey. He had to go bye-bye. He missed his family."

He nearly kicked himself when his comment sent his son on a fresh round of crying. "Bogey sad, Daddy!" Fresh tears rolled down the little boy's cheeks, catching in his curly blond locks. His lips quivered with the wails Draco had no doubt were imminent.

He quickly backtracked. "No! It's okay! Bogey went to back to his family. It's okay now!" Scorpius didn't look convinced. _Am I really trying to console my kid over a booger?_ Draco thought to himself. Being a father was never boring, but he never expected to console his kid over a booger.

However, his pleading must have worked because Scorpius peered up at him between his lashes. "You pwomise?"

Draco sighed but lifted his free hand up level with Scorpius. "I _pinky_ promise, Scorp. You can't take those back."

Satisfied, the little boy wrapped his pinky around his father's and hiccoughed one last time. Beaming, he lifted the little stuff dragon up with his other hand and said, "Dragon Bogey!"

Draco refrained from sighing in exasperation and muttered, "I always called him Puff, but I guess you can call him Bogey," as he set the boy down on the ground. Scorpius proceeded to waddle around his room, flapping Puff-now-Bogey up and down and making growling noises in his throat.

* * *

When Hermione had finally gotten home that evening, he'd made sure to take advantage of her promise to him. Anything he wanted had turned into several things, and Hermione's bustier lay in tatters on the floor next to his bed. Draco was lounging against the pillows with a sated grin while Hermione brushed her teeth.

"I take it tonight went alright, then?" Hermione asked from the doorway of the loo, toothbrush in hand.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Define alright." Hermione quirked her eyebrow up at him. "Let's just say it began with screaming and ended with Scorp's dragon getting a new nickname. Getting him down for bed was a feat in and of itself."

Hermione disappeared back into the bathroom for a few moments before she emerged, wandlessly shutting off the lights. She'd thrown on one of the short floral nightgowns Draco loved and flopped into bed next to him.

"Well, I appreciate you staying home with him tonight, no matter how trying it was." She rained kisses on his cheek. "And you certainly enjoyed your reward."

He chuckled and turned to seek out her lips. "I always enjoy rewards when you're involved."

Draco was just beginning to deepen the kiss once more when the door to their bedroom crashed open, and Scorpius flew into the room, dragon in tow. As Hermione and Draco separated, Scorpius launched himself between them, happily flying the plush toy in front of him.

Hermione peered down at the little boy, trying to hide a grin, and asked, "Scorpius, aren't you supposed to be in bed?"

Scorpius thrust the dragon upright and squealed, "Mommy, Bogey miss Daddy!" and proceeded to shove the stuffed toy in his father's face.

Hermione dissolved into giggles, barely choking out, "Bogey?"

Draco blushed bright red to the roots of his hair and pulled Scorpius into a tight hug. He ignored the little boy's protests and mumbled, "It's a long story."


	2. Family History - Lucius x Narcissa

**A/N:** A whimsical little drabble prompted by LadyKenz347 and her trope wheel. Unbetaed and unalphaed, all mistakes are my own.

 **Trope** : my spin on bed sharing  
 **Pairings** : Lucius x Narcissa, Draco x Hermione  
 **Rating** : M

 **Family History**

"Lucius, love, what are you staring at?"

The man didn't know how to answer the question, his mouth instead hanging open like a mermaid stranded on dry land for too long. Before him, a monstrosity of gauzy curtains and overstuffed pillows mocked him. A fluffy matress sat atop an opulent iron frame, its curling spindles reaching toward the ceiling and disappearing into the fabric that haphazardly clung to it. Mismatched quilts were piled one atop the other, and was _that_ —

Merlin help him, hundreds of plushies littered the surface too.

It was certainly _supposed_ to be a bed, but he couldn't quite make out why anyone would ever rest in it or what kind of pleasure could be derived from sleeping within a veritable spider's web of draperies.

Warm arms wrapped around his waist and lips pressed against the junction of his neck and shoulder. "Cissa, what _is_ that thing."

Tinkling laughter floated over him as Narcissa slowly circumvented his stock-still body. When she draped her arms over his shoulder, he finally tore his gaze from the masquerading as a bed. "Don't be so _daft_ , dear. It's a bed."

Lucius snorted. "I think it lost its right to be called that when it dressed up like an albino circus tent." He sniffed haughtily before scooting a toe around the giggling witch to poke a piece of fringe hanging miserably off the canopy.

Narcissa peered over her shoulder, lip bit in consternation. "I suppose Father did indulge me too much."

With brows arching toward his eyebrows, Lucius muttered a quiet retort. "You think?"

Narcissa wheeled him around, hands firm on his chest. "I know. Why else do you think he'd allow you in here? Not many pure-blood men allow their daughters alone with their suitor."

Lucius eyed the bed warily over his shoulder. "I'm sure he thought sharing this bed with you wouldn't be a problem. It's practically a chastity belt." His words trailed off when her lips attached to his neck and peppered it with kisses before lightly nipping his earlobe.

"I'm sure we could find _some_ way to prove him wrong and thank him for his oversight, couldn't we dear?" With a squeal of delight, Narcissa pulled Lucius down on top of her as their lips met in a heated kiss, hands wandering freely over each other. Plushies were thrown from the bed, the clang of iron clashing against the wall sounded, and Narcissa sighed as—

A throat cleared next to him, and the memory before Lucius dissolved.

Silverware scratched across plates, and he aimed a wicked smile at the other occupants of the dining table. Narcissa sat next to him clutching her fork tightly as twin spots of red bloomed to life on her cheeks. Draco's face had drained of all colour, and he looked to be struggling to keep his dinner down. Beside him, Hermione Granger clasped her hands tightly in her lap, staring intently at her engagement ring and appearing to fight off laughter.

"What?" he spoke into the silence. "I only thought to regale my future daughter-in-law with a little bit of family history."

" _Lucius_!" Narcissa's voice was a sharp hiss.

He continued on, feeling the self-satisfied grin creep up his cheeks. "And that, my dear daughter-in-law, was the night that your future husband was made." He waggled his eyebrows and Hermione sputtered, having been caught in the middle of a large gulp of water. "Welcome to the family."


	3. Lie to Me - Pansy x Harry

**A/N: Written for a drabble challenge hosted by Fairest of the Rare on Facebook. Unbetaed and unalphaed. Thanks for stopping by!**

 **Lie to Me**

 **Theme:** Solitude

 **Pairing:** Harry x Pansy

Fingertips smoothed over her skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Despite the chill of the frosted window seeping into her skin, Pansy felt a thrill of anticipation, warm and potent, shoot through her gut.

"What's a girl like you doing—" Warm, open-mouthed kisses rained over her shoulder, distracting her from the horribly saccharine words accompanying them "—doing all alone in a place like this?"

Pansy opened her mouth to reply, but a sharp hiss escaped instead, encouraged by the teeth clamping onto her earlobe and biting, just the way she liked it.

The way he _knew_ she liked it.

When he spun her around, all coherent thought escaped Pansy. Mossy green eyes stared down at her, hungry and sharp in the moonlight. His glasses were knocked askew, and his breath gusted over her in harsh pants as he tried to reign in the passion that threatened to overwhelm them both.

"Potter, you've really got to stop meeting me like this." It was a half-hearted protest, one they both knew well, uttered many times by the both of them. In broom closets at Hogwarts, dive bars all over the wizarding world. Wherever they could get the other alone, really.

A game. That's all it was. _Their_ game. It was all too difficult, the Golden Boy and the Slytherin floozy. Never mind the words they spoke to each other in the throes of passion. Never mind that her heart raced any time the light caught the square of his stubbled chin just _so_ or the swell of her heart when he caged her in with the muscled forearms she didn't dare allow herself to swoon over.

Pansy Parkinson did not swoon.

Especially for the likes of Harry bleeding Potter.

But when his fingers glided over her collarbone and tangled into the messy bob of her hair, her breath caught in her throat. She allowed a breathy moan when he pressed her against the windowpane, his warmth a delectable distraction from the sharp bite of winter outside. "Lie to me, Parkinson."

Harry's hips pressed against hers, the sharp bite of her hip bones marking her claim through his trousers, the hard length within a promise of what was to come.

As she slipped her hands down Potters chest, Pansy lied. She told herself that this time would be the last time. She unbuckled his trousers with exaltations on her lips. When he laid her back on the downy comforter and pinned her hands above her, she quelled the part of her soul that cried for her to let the walls down, to let him in.

Tonight, she would sink into him, whisper promises she couldn't keep in his ear. She'd cry his name in the ecstasy he always wrought. Then she'd lie in the silence of the darkened inn, watch the snow gather on the windowsill, until the call of solitude that drove her became too great for her to ignore.

And tomorrow she'd leave her heart with Potter again.


	4. Windows to the Soul - DHr

**A/N:** A short D/Hr drabble written in response to a prompt from Dramione Fanfiction Writers group on Facebook. Neither alphaed or betaed, so all errors are my own. I'm probably going to be posting more of these little drabbles off and on to break out of any blocks I find myself in. Of course, some will be longer than others! Thanks for reading along.

 **Windows to the Soul**

Her mother had once told Hermione that eyes were windows to the soul.

If that was true, Draco had covered his with layers of old parchment, boarded the insides, and shielded them with heavy drapes for good measure. No flicker of emotion escaped, no matter how desperately she wished for it.

She felt like a child at the foot of a castle, desperately throwing pebbles at the highest window in the hopes that one might crack the glass and grant her a clue to what it held inside.

But regardless of how much it hurt or how many tears she shed alone in the flat he'd purchased to keep her safe in during the war, Hermione vowed to return to Azkaban, to sit in the hard metal chairs and talk to him about their time together day after day, until the shutters opened and brought him back to her again.


	5. Home - Harmony

**A/N:** A drabble written for the Harmony & Co. group on Facebook. Has been neither alphaed nor betaed. I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise.

When Harry returned from the war, he wasn't the same boy she'd grown to love.

He was restless and distraught, waking in the night crying for those he'd lost. Each time, Hermione wrapped him in the warmth of her embrace, soothing him with quiet assurances until he fell into fitful sleep again.

It wasn't the life she had imagined with him, but she would take what she could get until he came back to her.

And then one morning, he did.

She was preparing their tea—one sugar for Harry, milk and honey for her—when his footsteps padded down the stairs. She anticipated his quiet presence, waiting for him to sink into the head chair and stare blankly out the window of Grimmauld Place.

But a warm hand wrapped around her hip, and breath fanned over her shoulder as he pulled her back into his solid body. The teacups crashed to the floor, their shattering masked by his name on a choked sob. His voice cracked with emotion as he whispered into her hair, "I told you I'd always find my way home."


End file.
